


Shipwrecks on the Snow

by callmejude



Series: Summer Offerings [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Come Swallowing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: Jon comes to Theon on his nameday after everyone else has gone to bed.





	Shipwrecks on the Snow

He’s not drunk. He’s not. He was too afraid that Theon wouldn’t want him here if he were, so he decided against having any wine with dinner this evening. It doesn’t stop him from wishing he were drunk, anyway. His heart is in his throat and his blood is scorching in his veins. The rest of the castle is in bed by now, but Jon knows that Theon is awake. His chambers are just down the hallway from Jon’s, and Jon had heard him up splashing around in his washing basin until only a moment ago. 

It had been Theon’s nameday. Father and Lady Catelyn never host quite the same level of celebration and feasting as they do for their own trueborn children, of course, but gifts still arrived from other lords, meaning to stay in favour of the heir of the Iron Islands, and a celebration was still had. Theon and Robb had gone hunting in the morning and stayed gone most of the day — otherwise Jon would have spoken to him earlier. And he couldn’t very well say anything to him in front of everyone during the feast that night. Theon would be have been humiliated and stormed away if Jon spoke to him with everyone about, even quietly. Anyway, Theon was too proud to let Jon speak as they ate. He had boasted loudly that it was his shot that had taken down the elk they feasted over in the Great Hall with a single arrow through its eye. Jon may not have believed him, if Robb didn’t swear by it as well.

Now, Jon is alone. It’s late. The castle is quiet and dark, and even the torches that line the corridors seem to be trying to usher Jon back to his own room. Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been standing in the corridor outside Theon’s door. Too long, surely. If not for the faint candlelight still flickering underneath the door, Jon would assume Theon has gone to sleep in all the time he’s stood here. 

It’s ridiculous, to be this shy. To stay this frightened. After everything they’d done in the godswood, there should be no reason for Jon to be so scared. He’s a man grown, now. He has a secret all his own. He feels it when sitting next to Robb at meals, or sparring with him in the yard. He feels different. Older than his brother. Wiser than the others. He wonders if anyone else can tell, but no one has bothered to treat him different. Not even Theon, really. 

Taking a deep breath, Jon knocks.

When Theon answers the door, he’s dressed only in his breeches, his chest bare. Jon’s throat goes dry. It’s a warm summer night, and Theon rarely wears much to bed, Jon has noticed, the few times he’s been in his room in the late evening or early morning. Theon doesn’t seem to take his own appearance into account as he peers down at Jon in the dim light.

“Snow? What’re you doing awake?”

It’s foolish to be here, he realizes suddenly. He had every right to be shy and afraid. What they had done in the godswood was months ago, and then never again. Occasionally Theon would teasingly wink at him in the springs, but they haven’t been alone together since. There’s no way Theon wants him here. 

Jon finds his voice. “I — I wanted…”

Surprisingly, Theon waits. Usually, he doesn’t have the patience to sit through the stuttering end of a sentence, not even with the younger children. But now he looks down at Jon passively, leaning against the worn oak of his doorway, and says nothing.

Something about his silence emboldens Jon just enough, and he meets Theon’s eyes. “I wanted to give you a nameday gift.”

For an instant, Theon’s face turns curious. He leans forward, as if trying to see if Jon is hiding something behind his back, before realization settles on his features.

“Oh,” he says with an uncomfortable chuckle, propping back against his doorframe. “Er… no. Trust me, Snow. You don’t want to give me that.”

“I do, too. You don’t know better than me what it is I want,” Jon snaps grumpily. Theon rolls his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t have a response. Jon huffs. “Anyway, you said you wanted —”

“Aye, gods be good. I know what I said,” Theon interrupts hurriedly, abruptly flustered. He runs a hand through his hair and frowns. “You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

Furrowing his brow, Jon shakes his head. Of course Jon will never forget that. It was the first time he had ever felt wanted, desirable. He can’t imagine why Theon would think he’d forget. He licks his lips nervously, hoping Theon finds it tantalizing.

“You taught me how.”

With a sigh, Theon leans his head back against the doorframe and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Snow, I didn’t —”

“You did!” Jon yelps, loudly enough that it echos softly off the stone walls. 

Theon’s head jerks up as if held by a string, his eyes wide. He glances down either end of the corridor before grabbing Jon’s arm and pulling him into his room. A giddy sweep rolls through Jon’s chest as the door slams behind him, but Theon’s teeth are clenched when he speaks.

“Would you _be quiet?_ ” Jon frowns, and Theon lets a long breath out through his nose, shoulders falling slack. “All the things you remember me saying that day and you can’t recall that it’d be my last night in this world if your lord father found out about what we did?”

Jon looks at his feet. He does remember that, just as clearly as the rest. He remembers shamefully the way it burned in his blood, and the way Theon shivered as he spoke it. He knew it wasn’t a game, what he was saying; but he thought perhaps it thrilled Theon as much as it did Jon.

“I know. I won’t tell,” he offers timidly. “I just wanted… I wanted to.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Light flickers dim from Theon’s hearth over his bare feet, its low crackling barely loud enough to fill the silence. Without warning, Theon’s hand combs through Jon’s unkempt mop of hair. Anxious, Jon glances up.

“Listen, Jon…” Theon tisks to himself, and drops his hand. “You’re sweet. But my cock’s a bit too much for beginners as it is.”

Theon has never called him _sweet._ As far as he knows he’s never even called a girl _sweet._ He feels the back of his neck burn hot and the churn of butterflies in his stomach. It’s not a compliment, coming from Theon. He doesn’t like Jon to be sweet. When Jon is sweet, he only pushes him away. 

Definitely, Jon shakes his head. “I did just fine the first time.”

A quiet, startled laugh bursts out of Theon, making the short hairs at the nape of Jon’s neck stand on end. This is what Theon likes. A challenge. Jon had convinced him before. He can convince him again.

“Please,” Jon whispers, eyes wide and pointed unblinking at Theon. “I want to, Theon. Please.”

“Gods, don’t give me that look,” Theon grumbles. “Are you drunk?”

Jon shakes his head, but Theon makes a face. He doesn’t believe him. “I’m not,” Jon says firmly, “I promise. I didn’t have a drop the whole feast.”

Theon rolls his eyes with a disbelieving grunt. He leans forward, sniffing the air at Jon’s face, checking for the scent of wine on his breath.

He’s so close, Jon reacts without thinking, surging forward and grabbing Theon’s hair in a fist to hold him still. Before Theon can speak, Jon claims his mouth, kissing the way Ros had taught him. Theon jerks back, but Jon holds him steady, pouring all he can into the kiss before Theon can manage to wrench away.

But he doesn’t. Not immediately. Jon feels him hesitate. His shoulders unwind and his mouth goes pliant, and Jon, heart pounding, is the first to pull away.

“If you’re going to throw me out, do it now,” Jon huffs, panting from the roiling excitement and breathless panic swirling together in his chest. “Otherwise, I’ve made up my mind.”

At first, Theon says nothing. He stares slack-jawed at Jon for a moment, his face pink. Time seems to stop short. Jon holds his breath, unsure for what. Maybe they’re stuck this way now, forever locked frozen in Theon’s room, inches from each other’s faces. Jon’s head is spinning. He’ll stay this way forever, if he has to.

It must be an eternity later that a smile crawls onto Theon’s face. “I really _have_ ruined you, haven’t I, Snow?”

The blood roars in Jon’s ears. The way Theon says his name now lights something in his chest. His pulse thudding so hard he can feel it fluttering in his neck. Theon ruined him long ago, before he ever even meant to, and he has no idea.

“Shut up,” Jon tells him instead, and pulls him back into the kiss.

This time, Theon goes easily. His mouth is warm and pliant under Jon’s, gentle, receptive. Like it was under the weirwood tree, months ago. The memory sparks something at the base of Jon’s spine, and he whimpers, surging up on his toes to deepen the kiss. With a soft breath of a chuckle against Jon’s mouth, Theon pulls back.

“You’re — you don’t have to do this for me, Snow.”

Jon frowns. “This isn’t out of obligation. I want it just as much as you do.”

Snorting, Theon shakes his head. “Alright, but —”

“Do you treat the maids this way?” Jon grumbles, frustrated. “All your tales of girls you’ve bedded, you’ve never once mentioned trying to dissuade any of _them._ ”

“You’re not a girl, Jon,” Theon says, in lieu of answering. When he smiles, it isn’t the knowing little smirk he usually has, but soft and lazy.

It feels like a trick. “No, I’m not.” 

There’s a hand on Jon’s cheek, then. Delicate and careful, brushing a wild dark curl from his face. Jon braces himself for disappointment, for some explanation of why they can’t do this, a sharp-tongued insult on how childish he’s being. A barb about his parentage, or even just a comment on how late the hour is.

Instead, all Theon says is, “Gods, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

He says it with such fondness that for a moment, Jon thinks Theon may love him. Jon shivers, his skin hot, even as the fire in Theon’s hearth is dying. 

“I — I am.”

He kisses Theon again, because it’s easier when neither of them are talking — when he doesn’t have to answer questions, or justify himself. And Theon falls into the kiss so easily it’s almost as if he were the maiden, eager and careful even as he leans down to meet Jon’s mouth. That thought ignates something in Jon, and he pushes off of his heels. It’s not close enough, not even when Theon’s hand cups his jaw. Different than it had been in the godswood. There had been nothing between them, then.

Overzealous, Jon topples forward, and Theon stumbles to catch Jon against his chest.

“Gods, you’re hopeless, Snow,” he says with a quiet laugh, “haven’t I already claimed your virtue?”

Frowning, Jon shoves at Theon’s chest, trying to move him back toward his bed. “You’re supposed to sit back.”

“Am I?” Theon raises an eyebrow. “Any good whore knows how to get on her knees, Jon.”

He’s smiling — teasing — but Jon shoves him again, harder, and Theon has to grapple onto Jon’s arm to keep from toppling to the floor. 

Theon laughs. Jon glares at him.

“You’re such a serious thing,” he tells Jon gamely, leaning down to place a kiss on Jon’s cheek. “This isn’t all as dire as you make it, Snow. C’mon.”

Still chuckling, Theon grasps Jon’s wrist as he leads him over toward his bed, and sits back on the edge, mattress dipping. “If you come sit on the bed with me it’ll be better on your knees.”

Defiant, Jon kneels at Theon’s feet on the stone floor. Theon rolls his eyes, but he lets out a long sigh with a smile. 

“Suit yourself,” he huffs, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, bowing over Jon. “Now — listen, Snow, before you start gagging for it, this is important. Don’t — don’t go using your teeth.”

Jon opens his mouth to ask how he should go about doing that, but Theon answers by placing his thumb against Jon’s bottom lip and pushing it up, pressing it over his teeth. 

“Like that, alright? And breathe through your nose, else you’ll choke.”

Jon nods, placing his hand on Theon’s lap. “Alright.”

Theon’s eyes follow Jon’s hand, and Jon tugs his drawstrings open at his waist. 

“Is that all?” Jon asks.

“Eager, are you?”

Furrowing his brow in frustration, Jon nods sternly. He’s wanted this since the godswood, Theon knows that.

Somehow, it surprises Theon, and he blinks, struck dumb for a moment. Jon toys with the drawstrings of Theon’s breeches, waiting.

“Er — and be sure to relax your jaw, yeah? Makes it easier.” The hand at Jon’s chin gives a light tap. “Hold it slack. Throat, too.”

Focusing, Jon relaxes as much as he can. He looks up at Theon, checking his face to see if he has any further instruction. Instead, he’s only staring.

“Um… Like that. Yes. Good.”

Jon grins. 

Theon’s hands are shaking as he drops them from Jon’s mouth. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jon doesn’t blink. Blink and Theon will change his mind. Blink and it’s over. He swallows hard. 

Theon looks down at his lap. “Alright, then.” He smiles, nervous, not quite reaching his eyes as he shuffles his breeches off of his hips. Jon watches his cock slide free, long and thick even limp as it is now. As Jon stares, Theon starts to stroke himself lazily. It’s like second nature to Theon, he isn’t even looking at his hand as it moves, instead meeting Jon’s eyes again. 

“Remember what I said about the teeth. If anything happens to my cock, you’ll have every girl in the North coming for your head.”

Huffing, Jon leans forward. He means to say something, something witty and teasing, but his heart is suddenly in his throat, and he falters. Theon has had this done countless times. If what he told Jon all those months ago is true, he’s had it from men and women alike. And Jon — Jon has only had it the once, over so quickly it was laughable. Jon has no idea what he’s doing. What if he goes about it wrong? Perhaps Theon is right. Perhaps every girl in the North will end up coming for him.

“Snow?”

When Jon looks up, Theon frowns. More nervous than even Jon. Over his old fears — the fear for his life if Father ever caught them — but Jon lets himself pretend that Theon is perhaps nervous for the same reasons as Jon. The churning excitement from the mere thought of what they’re doing. 

“I’m not changing my mind,” Jon tells him pointedly.

Theon’s face relaxes as he rolls his eyes. “Aye, you never do.”

For some reason, it’s calming, to hear Theon tease him; to hear him say something that Jon would even say about himself. Despite his tone, it feels like something Theon admires in him — as if it’s something he might even like.

Courage sprouting in his chest, Jon takes Theon’s cock from his hand and slides his mouth down over it before he can hesitate again.

It’s not as pleasant, at least, not in the raw, bodily way it had been on the other end. Now, the fire is all in his head. The stretch of his lips stings, too far, and the weight is solid in his mouth. The taste reminds him of when Theon kissed him after, in the godswood. Stronger, more bitter, but no different. It’s thrilling, to realize they taste the same. 

Jon is so focused on the feeling that he nearly misses the sound that rushes from Theon’s lungs. A strange, winded gasp that is almost a word. His breathlessness is encouraging, so Jon bobs his head like he remembers Theon doing to him.

“ _Fuck_ —”

Theon’s voice sends a jolt through Jon’s spine, and he looks up. Theon is staring at him, eyes wide and dark. His tongue sweeps out to lick his lips, and he swallows, throat contracting obscenely.

Curious, Jon does the same, swallowing thickly around the weight on his tongue.

Shivering, Theon whispers, “ _Oh,_ that’s it.”

His voice is so soft that it slides down Jon’s spine like water. Greedy, he edges forward, forcing his jaw wider until he gags.

“Hey, hey —” Theon holds onto his hair and leads him back with a gentle tug. Keening, Jon meets his eyes, dark and wide and glassy. “Shh, it’s — it’s… careful. You’re alright.”

For a moment, Jon feels babied. As Theon strokes his cheek, Jon is sure he’s mocking him, disbelieving he can do anything more than what they’ve already done. But then Theon shudders, a long, full-body chill. His hands are trembling. Eyes slide shut and Theon groans, mindless, mouth slack. It isn’t teasing, now. No art to it. This is different. Different than it was even in the godswood. Suddenly, Jon feels powerful. He owns Theon in a way the Starks do not. None of them. Not even Robb.

“You’re alright?”

It’s a question now — perhaps Jon has been in his own head too long. Replying is difficult, given his present task, so he drags his mouth forward and back over Theon’s cock, keeping his eyes locked on Theon’s face through his dark lashes. He looks so gentle now, docile and inviting. Not at all like how he tries to be. Jon tries to remember the sorts of things Theon had done with his mouth, but it had all been so quick then. Jon had been too new to the sensation to think clearly at all. But he likes this. The focus of it. The way he can watch Theon trembling. He likes laving his tongue along Theon’s cock and watching him fall apart.

Shivering excitedly, Jon shifts high onto his knees to swallow Theon down, further than he thought he could. Determined, he hollows his cheeks and groans at the chill he feels coil at the base of Theon’s spine.

“Gods,” Theon says suddenly, “yes, yes, Jon... I’ve never known anyone to — _want_ it so much.”

Jon likes that. Theon has been his first for everything, but is a veteran at everything a thousand times over. Jon never thought he could be a first for Theon at anything. Spine going molton, Jon’s eyes flutter shut and he drags his head back and forth, revelling in the feeling of Theon’s hands gathering tightly in his hair. As he gets used to the weight, his jaw starts to ache, dropping open farther as he pulls himself further down over Theon’s cock.

There’s a wet gasp above Jon’s head, and it sinks deep into Jon’s bones. He crawls as far as he can into Theon’s lap, keening at the way Theon tries to hold him back.

“You’re — you’re alright. That’s it. You’re — gods, _Jon…_ ”

Jon has never heard his name said that way. Reverent and soft. His name has never meant much to him — the name of a bastard, of a shame upon his family. But the way Theon says it now, he feels like a prince. 

Shivering, he starts to move. Dropping his mouth open as wide as it will go, he works himself faster over Theon’s skin, moaning as he feels him trembling.

“Jon, gods — that’s —” 

Jon’s eyes snap open again, hoping to read Theon’s face, but his head is tipped back, staring at the ceiling overhead. Long, pale throat, working. Jealous, Jon whines, and Theon’s chin drops to meet his eyes as if reading his mind. It drags a chill through Jon’s spine, and Theon gasps.

“That’s good, Jon.” 

He says it offhanded, under his breath. It’s as if he doesn’t even mean to say it, but Jon has never wanted to hear anything so badly. Trembling, Jon whimpers against Theon’s cock and breathes out hard through his nose like Theon told him, crawling further into Theon’s lap until he’s nearly choking again. Theon’s hands rip at his hair, holding it back from his face in clenched handfuls. 

“Gods — Jon… _Fuck._ ” Jon whines again, moving as fast as he can manage with Theon’s nails digging into his scalp, shivering at the way Theon’s mouth runs away from him. “That’s good, Jon — that’s — that’s so good.”

Jon is squirming between Theon’s knees, skin churning hot from Theon’s babbling. His jaw is going numb now, the ache subsiding into nothing as pleasure rolls through his groin. He can stay like this forever now, listening to Theon’s half-thought little whispers. His vision blurs as he flattens his tongue over the underside of Theon’s cock, and the sound of Theon keening causes a jolt through Jon’s spine.

“Gods, you love it, don’t you? Love it so much you’d pay me for it. You’re so — so good.”

A hand drags from Jon’s hair to lace their fingers. Jon hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching his fists until Theon pries his fingers apart. 

“I’m going to — move,” Theon says, voice trembling. “I wasn’t — wasn’t going… but you’re doing so good, Jon. You — you can take it, can’t you?”

Jon’s eyes roll back before he can think to respond, and Theon’s cock thrusts shallowly into his throat. It drags Jon’s bones down, heavy and rooted to the floor, and Theon groans.

“Gods you — you take it better than the whores do,” he says through gritted teeth, “look at you.”

Jon has never wanted anything this much. His skin is on fire as Theon holds his hand tight, pressed against his naked thigh. The way his hips roll is delicate, slow, and Jon wants more, even as tears start to pour from his eyes from the effort he’s taking already. 

“Shh,” Theon whispers, his free hand wiping at the tracks down his face. “Shh, you’re alright. Gods, you’re so — so good, it’s alright.” Jon must react to that, somehow, but he’s unaware of it until he hears Theon hiss, “You’re hard, aren’t you? Gods, that’s — that’s so… _Perfect._ ”

Jon rocks against the floor, gagging slightly when Theon’s cock brushes the back of his throat, but resists when Theon tries to stop his moving. The words come faster now, breathless and faded.

“That’s it. You’re so good,” he whispers again and again, “so, so good.” Jon is shaking and eager, nails of his free hand digging hard into Theon’s thigh. Theon has had everything, and he still wants this — still wants Jon. “I knew you would be. My good boy.”

Jon jerks forward, his vision going grey as he swallows Theon down. 

Gasping, Theon says it again, unsure of what part Jon liked, “Good — good boy, my good boy.” Jon keens, and Theon exhales hard. “That’s it. That’s — mine. _Mine._ ”

Bitter salt fills his mouth suddenly, and Jon chokes back in surprise as he pulls away, seed spilling down Jon’s chin as Theon rips the cock from his mouth. 

“Fuck — _fuck,_ I’m sor…”

Theon stops talking abruptly, and it takes a moment for Jon to realize the seed is no longer in his mouth, the aftertaste of it still sharp and bitter on his tongue. Theon is gaping at him, and Jon looks at his knees, shy.

Theon hadn’t swallowed it like that. Jon hadn’t really meant to, but he hadn’t minded the taste enough to think to spit it out. He coughs anxiously. He hadn’t meant to do anything wrong. He wonders, suddenly, if something bad may happen to him now. If he gets sick, will the maester know what he’s done?

“Did — did you swallow it?”

Jon cringes, nodding without looking up. He’s ruined it. He disgusts Theon, now.

There’s a hand on his chin, forcing Jon up to meet his eyes. “Did you like it?”

He hadn’t, not really. But he didn’t quite dislike it either, and the look on Theon’s face makes him nod without thinking. He’s not disgusted, he’s awestruck. Nothing bad will happen to him, Jon realizes. Not when Theon is looking at him like that. Theon’s thumb drags over his chin, wiping the rest of it from his face, but hesitates to pull his hand away, and Jon instinctively opens his mouth.

“Drowned fuck,” Theon whispers, pushing his thumb into Jon’s mouth. 

It tastes amazing, now. Mixed with the reverent look on Theon’s face. He’ll never swallow anything else if Theon keeps looking at him that way. Theon doesn’t pull his hand away until Jon has sucked his thumb clean.

“Come here. There’s a lad.”

Instantly, Jon scrambles up from the floor, crawling into Theon’s lap. He expects Theon to flip him, push him to the bed, perhaps, but he wraps an arm around Jon’s back, cradling his head in his palm.

“You’re still hard, aren’t you, Snow?” Theon smiles, his eyes closed.

Jon nods, and Theon tucks his face into Jon’s neck, his free hand pulling at the drawstring of his breeches. 

“Alright,” he whispers, hot breath ghosting over Jon’s skin, “come here, I’ll take care of you.”

The words alone cause Jon to tremble, arching forward into Theon’s chest. His hand is deft pulling Jon’s cock from his breeches, and Jon gasps at the delicate way fingers wrap around him.

“Do you do this yourself now, Snow,” Theon asks, voice low as he strokes him, “while thinking of me?”

“Yes.” Jon’s voice is raw and he coughs. It sounds strange to speak after so long. The strain tugs unfamiliarly at his throat. “The — the godswood…”

Theon exhales against Jon’s throat, and his hand twitches. His rough archer’s callouses roll warm and worn over Jon’s cock, and Jon gulps for air. Breath stirs Jon’s hair, and Theon murmurs, “How often?”

Jon swallows, embarrassed at his own lewdness. Theon has him figured out. Always did. The slide of warm fingers pulls the words from Jon’s throat before he can think of a way to lie. “Every — every night that I can.”

“You’ve not been with anyone else since, have you?”

Jon shakes his head. “No.”

A low gasp, though it can’t possibly surprise him. It’s barely been three moons since the godswood. “Do you want to?”

“No.”

Teeth graze Jon’s throat, just short of biting. “Good.”

Theon’s hand is getting slick, dragging slow over Jon’s skin. It dizzies him, pulling tight at the bottom of his spine. Jon squirms, he ruts, heat pooling below his navel. They had done this in the godswood, just like this. Close and warm and perfect. Theon’s breath is still ragged against his skin and Jon remembers what he’d told him a moment ago, breathless and inadvertent again and again. Jon’s mind goes foggy and he groans, his body feeling slack and limp.

“I could — I could be yours,” Jon pleads, twisting in Theon’s grip as the tension starts to build. “I — I can…”

“Oh, Jon,” Theon purrs against his ear, hand picking up speed. “You already are.” 

Gasping, Jon spills abruptly into Theon’s hand, shivering against Theon’s lap.

He doesn’t mean to be loud. He doesn’t even realize he’s shouting until Theon presses his hand over his mouth, rocking Jon as he comes back to himself. It’s so gentle that Jon’s body starts to feel heavy on his bones, and his eyes slide shut, the tension bleeding all out of him at once, like a river draining from a dam. He reaches out, fingers tangling in Theon’s hair to pull him closer. He expects Theon to fight against the contact, especially now that their encounter is over with, but he only curls over Jon with a soft huff of a laugh. 

As Jon catches his breath, he feels heat bloom at the back of his neck. It was still over so quickly. In all the times he’s touched himself since the godswood, it’s never been over so fast. Self-consciously, he wishes Theon could know it isn’t his inexperience that has him spill so soon. The hand between them falls away, extended delicately away from the two of them or Theon’s furs. Theon’s clean hand drops from his mouth, bracing over Jon’s back, fingers toying gently with the hair curling at the base of Jon’s neck.

“You’re alright?”

Jon doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to break the silence, and doesn’t want to jostle Theon’s hand out of his hair with a nod. Instead, he just curls forward and tucks his face into the hollow of Theon’s throat. Jon waits for Theon’s fingers to continue twisting in his curls before he breathes in the salty taste of him. It’s been over a decade since Theon has lived in the Iron Islands, and yet he still smells so strongly of the sea Jon can almost picture it.

Fingers run soft through Jon’s hair as he falls into the slowing rhythm of Theon’s breathing. Jon feels it again, as he had in the godswood. A calm that he has come to crave. The peace surrounding them, as if the world around them is nothing at all.

The warm quiet envelopes them before Theon’s voice cuts through, a little raw from disuse. “Don’t fall asleep on me, Snow.”

With a huff, Jon burrows further into Theon’s chest. “Please?”

“Your lord father will come to retrieve me for chores in the morning,” Theon sighs. “He’ll catch you in my bed. And it won’t be like it was when you were a boy.”

As he says it, Jon wonders if his father had caught Jon sleeping in Theon’s bed all those years ago. The night of the thunderstorm. Theon had threatened to tell Father, back then, to expose Jon as a coward, and it had cowed him then, but now that he’s nearly a man grown Jon knows that it would have amounted to nothing. As if his lord father would’ve considered childish tattling from Greyjoy of any importance. Being brave in front of his father had seemed so necessary to Jon as a child. He feels foolish for ever being so worried over something of such little consequence.

“Did he see us,” Jon wonders aloud, “back then?”

Theon tisks. “No, I’d bundled you up tight. You’d been a little thing, then. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. Not then.”

A spark of hope twinges in Jon’s chest. “I’m not much bigger now,” he insists. 

“You’re plenty bigger,” Theon says with a lazy grin. “Do you _want_ your father to take my head?”

“I _want_ to stay here,” Jon pouts.

Smirking, Theon leans forward and kisses him soundly. He doesn’t pull away until Jon melts into it, relinquishing the fight. “Gods but you’re spoiled,” he murmurs against Jon’s mouth. “C’mon, get up. I’ve got a way to stop your whining.”

Perking up, Jon lets Theon push him to his feet and climbs out of bed. Jon thinks he has some sort of devious plan to keep him here, but instead all he does is wash his hand in the basin by his door and take Jon’s wrist, leading him out of his room.

“Where are —?”

“Worse than the innkeeper’s daughter, you are,” Theon says over his shoulder. “Couldn’t keep her in the castle, so I’d take nights at the inn, instead. She couldn’t bear to be left all alone after.”

Jon doesn’t know why Theon would tell him this. He scowls, jealous of this girl he’s never met. “What do I care about the innkeeper’s daughter?”

“Drowned fuck, Snow, I haven’t taken up with her in years,” Theon tells him as he leads them down the corridor. He sounds amused, which just makes Jon more sour. “Don’t be so damned sullen.”

Jon frowns, too stubborn and embarrassed to let it be known it cheers him to know Theon has lost interest in a girl. He opens his mouth to point out Theon hadn’t answered his question when he realizes they’re at the door to his chambers.

“I can’t stay,” Theon tells him, opening his door. “No place in this frozen castle as private as the inn. But I’ll at least wait until you’ve fallen asleep. Will that stop your moping?”

Jon grins, his bitterness forgotten. He nods. “Yes, it would.”

Theon rolls his eyes, but Jon sees him smile before he cuffs the back of Jon’s head.

“Gods,” Theon grumbles, “you’re a right mess.”

He may mean it as an barb, but Theon’s tone is too tender for Jon to take it as one as he rushes to his featherbed. He sits on his furs before Theon has made it to him, and Jon remembers suddenly the way Theon had tended to him the night of his nameday, wiping his tears. How gentle he’d been, how patient, how unlike what Jon expected.

“Theon?”

Theon doesn’t look at him as he shoves Jon over to make room for himself on the mattress. “Mm?”

Jon hadn’t meant to say anything. He scrambles for something to say that isn’t laughable or embarrassing. Looking at his hands, he finally lands on, “Do you like to be kind to me?”

“What sort of question is that?” Theon snorts, eyebrows raised. 

Jon isn’t sure. He shrugs, and keeps his head down as Theon stretches out onto his bed. 

It’s quiet for a breath, and then Theon sighs, “Are you going to pout until I answer?”

“No,” Jon frowns.

“C’mere,” Theon says, exasperated, wrapping his hand around Jon’s arm and tugging him down, until he’s nearly splayed out over Theon’s chest. “You’re such a damned girl. Why else would I be nice?”

Jon’s mouth hangs open, unable to think of a response with the way he’s pulled over Theon. His heart is in his throat. Jon can hear it in his ears. Anxious, he drops his free hand onto Theon’s chest for balance, and seizes at the feel of Theon’s rapid heartbeat under his fingers. Does it scare him, too? Being this close? 

Swallowing, Jon manages hoarsely, “What about all the times you’re not?”

He doesn’t expect Theon to smile at that. At least not as warmly as he does. Jon’s heart is like a little bird trapped under his ribs when Theon touches his face, fingers trailing just over his cheek. 

“That’s the game of it, isn’t it? If I were nice to you all the time, you wouldn’t be any fun.”

Jon glares at him, unconvinced. 

Theon chuckles, as if validated. “Alright, don’t think you can get me to stay here all night if you don’t get some fucking sleep, Snow.”

He says it like he’s frustrated, like it’s such a burden, but he sits up on his elbows and places a kiss on Jon’s forehead before tucking him against his chest.

They curl up together in Jon’s furs, Theon huffing a laugh as Jon burrows into him happily. The cool air of the night sits heavy all around them. Again, Jon’s heart is racing. He wonders for a moment if he may be too excited to fall asleep at all. But Theon’s fingers pet his hair back, sweet and calming, and Jon can feel his breath stir the curls at his forehead.

“Spoiled brat,” he whispers fondly.

Grinning to himself, Jon says nothing. Theon doesn’t seem to expect a response, gently stroking back Jon’s hair. The steady rise and fall of Theon’s chest is relaxing, and Jon eventually falls asleep surrounded by the smell of the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "The Waiting's Over" by Raised by Swans


End file.
